Septimana
by VengefulMothSlayer
Summary: On Monday they met, on Tuesday they hated each other, on Wednesday they were in a love-hate relationship and on Thursday they were friends, on Friday they were shy, on Saturday they were in denial and by Sunday, they were in love. (Seven one shots for seven days and seven different USUK Gakuen AUs)
1. Monday

**Soooo… Septimana. You will be wondering what that means. **

**According to Google Translate, it means "Week", or thereabouts, in Latin. As it sounds similar to the Latin for "Seven", which is "Septem", I am inclined to believe it. The title has little or no importance, though. **

**The way this fic works is that I write a short oneshot for every day of this week, all in Gakuen AU. **

**Each oneshot will span only one day. The day I post it. **

**I have writer's block and I need to get into the writing mood. **

_**On Monday they met, on Tuesday they hated each other, on Wednesday they were in a love-hate relationship and on Thursday they were friends, on Friday they were shy, on Saturday they were in denial and by Sunday, they were in love. (Seven one shots for seven days and seven different USUK Gakuen AUs)**_

_**Septimana**_

Could my Monday get any worse?

Thinking about it… Sharks, starving children in Africa, Chernobyl, tsunamis, other miscellaneous natural disasters… No, it couldn't. It was a Monday, after all, which was the absolute worst day that I could possibly have slept in until 8:30, through various alarms and the sounds of my brothers getting ready for school. (How I had done that, I was not sure)

No, I decided as I made a toast sandwich and forwent even a single solitary cup of tea, pausing only to put my pants on and grab my backpack, this was about as bad as it could get. I was running to school, which is 15 minutes away on foot, desperately buttoning my shirt up and with my laces undone, with only five minutes let until Homeroom. I was, as my eldest brother Alistair would say, 'Royally fucked'.

There was nothing that could possibly have made it worse.

Except for the fact that this was my first day in a new school, I was beginning 3 weeks later than every other student, I hadn't met anyone yet, and I would for the rest of the day be surrounded by obnoxious and boorish Americans.

Not to mention the fact that I was running the wrong direction.

Fuck it, I was _not_ going to have a good day no matter how much I tried.

I hate Mondays.

000

I bent over in front of the Admin building, panting and dishevelled. Running had never been my strong suit- well, neither was anything physical, really.

The secretary at the front raised an eyebrow at my appearance, and I could see her curling her red-painted upper lip as she bent over her paperwork again, studiously ignoring me. _Fat old sod_, I thought, waiting not-so-patiently for her to notice me. Or at least pass the point at which she could reasonably pretend I wasn't there in the hope I would go away, like a particularly hefty insurance bill.

Meanwhile, as she indulged her menopausal old-maid whims, time was a-wasting. I checked. She had exactly 5 seconds 'till the beginning of the Homeroom before she finally heaved a gigantic, walrus-like sigh and favoured me with a sour look. "What do you want?"

Oh, that explained it. I'd almost forgotten that she was probably American, and had, in my lapse of memory, been expecting some common _fucking_ decency from her. The heavy Bronx accent she addressed me in, however, banished all doubt that this would be more difficult than extracting teeth.

"I'm Arthur Kirkland," I said with a small, practiced smile. "I'm a new tenth-year student and I was told to get my information packet from here?" I left the final words as a question, to be polite, you understand.

I hadn't expected her to break into a large, rather frightening, coffee-stained smile. "Oh, sweetie, you should have said! Of course you get you timetable from here. I've already put it together for you. Just give me a moment."

I frowned, confused at the sudden change in behaviour. "Of course," I said, faintly, the winced as the sound of the bell drilled into my ears. Late. No doubt about it now.

She shuffled some papers for a second, before popping her head up again like a rather ghastly jack-in-the-box. "What year did you say you were in again, sweetie?"

"Uh, tenth grade, ma'am," I said, shifting uncomfortably under the stench of here coffee breath.

"And what's that?" she asked, smile diminishing.

"I believe you call it sophomore year," I said, trying to keep my temper in check. Was she being deliberately obtuse or jut genuinely that stupid?

She nodded and continued rustling papers.

"Sweetie, are you from Britain, by any chance?"

"England, actually," I said, getting even more pissed off. That would explain it. My accent. It did weird things to Americans. Especially the undesirable ones.

(And I absolutely hated it when people got England confused with Britain. They were completely different, in almost every way)

She finally got the packet out, the bell now a distant memory. I was done for.

000

"Excuse me," I said, knocking on the door to my Homeroom. I probably only had about 3 minutes left, judging from the sheer amount of time it took to find the bloody classroom. At least I'd been able to straighten myself out a bit while in the corridor.

"I'm Arthur Kirkland, is this class 10B?"

The teacher's face hardened into a frown as he glared at me. I made a mental note to figure out how to glare like that.

"Yes," he said, standing. He was MASSIVE. And I don't exaggerate. He was at least 3 heads taller than me, taller even than Alistair. He also had hair long enough to pull into a ponytail, and was incredibly intimidating.

"I am Mr. Beilschmidt. Why are you late, Arthur?" he asked, his voice deep and rumbling. He was German. He looked like a Nazi. Oh god, could my day get any bloody worse?

I stayed silent for a moment, not daring to look sideways to the class who were probably shitting themselves with silent laughter at this spectacle.

Then I closed my eyes and straightened my shoulders. I was British. I would not go down without fight. Even if the adversary in question happened to be a Nazi schoolteacher the size of Godzilla. I would not fail.

"I was held up at the office," I said steadily. "Sir."

The silence was unbearable.

The ice of Mr. Beilschmidt's eyes were burning a frozen hole straight into my soul.

I stared straight back. I would not back down.

He was going to kill me with the power of thought.

I was too young to die.

"Alright," he said, shifting his glare to the rest of the class. I relaxed my shoulders and let out my breath (breath I _had_ noticed I had been holding, because what kind of bloody eejit doesn't realise they aren't breathing and are about to die of oxygen deprivation? Really?).

"Class, this is Arthur Kirkland. Arthur, tell us about yourself."

I froze for a moment, then pivoted on my heel and stood straight. I would show these Americans what it meant to be British. I would not let them get me down.

"My name is Arthur Kirkland and I have recently moved here from London, England. Which is _not_," I said, glaring at them in a way I hoped was reminiscent of Mr. Beilschmidt (whom I found I had a lot more respect for, now that he wasn't trying to freeze-drill the life out of me with his eyes), "the same thing as Britain. England is part of Britain. The two terms are not interchangeable."

I could tell I was freaking them out a little, so I smiled internally and ploughed on. "I drink tea, not coffee, because I think it is an abomination, and I hope," I said, smiling faintly and a little threateningly in the direction of the "jocks" sitting in the back, "that we can all be friends."

The smile seemed to work after I'd been silent and staring for a few moments, because the boys started shifting uncomfortably in their seats.

Maybe this day wasn't going so bad after all.

Nope, yeah, it was.

000

"So! Artie! Whatcha got first?" The jock said, obviously trying to be cheerful in the face of my glare and over-compensating.

"None of your bloody business," I said, turning my glare down to zero degrees kelvin. "And my name is Arthur, not Artie."

"I'm Alfred!" He said. "Pleased ta meetcha, Artie!"

_Woosh_, I thought. That just went right over his head.

I sighed and shook my head. "Fine. Whatever. I have Chemistry."

He brightened immediately, grin becoming more blinding than the bleeding sun. "Cool! I have Chem too! You can sit by me."

_Fantastic_, I thought, in a very surly tone. _Not only do I have to sit through a whole bloody hour of chemistry, I've got to deal with him all through it. Fucking Americans. _

000

After school, as I was leaving the premises of what I was sure would become a daily torture for the next few years, I was halted by a loud yell. Or do these Americans call them a holler? Maybe a yodel?

"Hey so Artie, I was just wondering…" I looked up at the annoyingly tall, overdeveloped child.

"What?"

"Well, I noticed you weren't doing so hot in class. I was wondering if I could help you with your homework," he said.

_Interesting_, I thought. _He does seem to genuinely want to help. _There was no missing the hopeful look in his eyes.

And I really did need help with my Chemistry homework.

000

By the time I went to sleep, I had truly had the worst Monday in the history of the Universe.

But I also had a best friend.

000

**So! Tell me what you thought! Give me a prompt for the next day! Tell me I'm an amazing author! Tell me I need to be beaten to death with an angry hedgehog! Whatever, just review, favourite and follow!**

**Oh yeah, and there would be a LOT more porn in Hetalia if I owned it. Trust me. **


	2. Tuesday

**Aw, my feels! So many people have followed! I feel so loved! **

**So, this being the Tuesday chapter, they hate each other. No friendly arguments. Probably Russian Roulette-style bullying. **

**Actually no, that's far too depressing. I think I'll go for something more drastic. Yeah. **

**I wanted to illustrate just how different they were capable of being in this chapter- so I turned to the one thing that divides EVERYONE, no matter what they think or believe. Religion. **

**Yeah, possibly controversial religious themes ahoy! If I insult you or your beliefs, please know I don't necessarily feel that way, I just think the characters would. **

**I obviously don't own Hetalia. If I did, it would be called "Hentalia" or "Yaoitalia" or "ShitRainbowsNowMotherFucker". **

**Enjoy~ **

"We have to turn to God," Alfred said, standing up on the small stage in the gym, where the assemblies were held. He was giving a presentation in Assembly, and he probably thought everything he said was valid, fair, and true.

"God accepts you for who you are, and He will give you peace."

Arthur grimaced, fiddling idly with a button on his jacket. It said "Sexism is for Pussies", and had been a present from his mother.

He hated assemblies. And this part- the religious preaching part- never ceased to make him want to puke. Everything about it just seemed to _wrong_; the narrow-minded way that these people accepted God as the only explanation, the selfish way they condemned anyone who was different and not one of _them_, the threats they used to entice people to do good; this religion went against everything he thought was important.

Arthur may have looked like he cared about nothing and no-one, but he did- he valued intelligence, reason and independence. But there was one of that here.

Oh, what he wouldn't give to show these selfish twits that what they perceived as "corruption" was, in fact, everywhere.

His grimace turned into a smirk. It was almost time.

000

Alfred F. Jones was almost at the end of his speech. He felt light on the inside, like he was floating, as always.

Showing the other students what was right, showing them the right way to do things, that was when he felt like a hero. That was when he felt closest to God.

Some people didn't understand how great and good God was; they were narrow-minded, bound to their mundane existence and their everyday lives. They refused to believe that there could possibly be something more, and refused to understand that they would be truly safe and happy in the hands of God.

Showing people how happy they could be, how much God loves them, it made him feel truly good. Like maybe he really was the hero he always wanted to be.

000

Arthur hated religious fanatics. Especially that bloody Alfred Jones. Always spouting rubbish like "God loves you" and "Jesus died for you". Arthur half expected him to team up with the Ivan kid and start going around wearing sandwich boards telling people to "Become One with Mother Russia" and "Become One with the Church"

He was honestly far too creepy for Arthur's liking.

That was why he'd planned the sabotage.

000

Alfred finished his speech and shuffled his papers, getting ready to leave the stage.

That was when the punk made his move.

000

"You say that God accepts everyone for who they are? Well, that's bullshit! He accepts you for who you are, just as long as you're who he wants you to be! Fucking Nazis!"

Arthur was on his feet in the middle of the walkway, surrounded by students and teachers, surrounded by stares.

Alfred was the first to recover. "That's not true! He loves you-"

"Bullshit," Arthur snarled, and it felt like freedom to finally throw their words back in their faces. "I've been hated al my life by people like you for being who I am. I really doubt God loves me if he allows you to hate me."

Jones blinked, seemingly lost for words for a moment. It was true, after all, that he hated Arthur. But it was because Arthur hated God, not the other way around. Right?

"Francis!" Arthur yelled, and Bonnefoy got up from the edge of the row behind him.

On principle, Arthur hated that perverted Frenchman. But they were allies, all the same. They shared a common goal.

"If you," Arthur said into the socked silence, "can understand or at least not judge lesbians, gays and bisexuals, then you aren't being hypocritical by telling them that your God loves them. But if you can condemn people for being who they are, then you are the worst kind of duplicitous asshole to ever to condemn an innocent man or woman out of spite."

And then he turned around and stuck his tongue in Francis' mouth.

As disgusting as it may have been to kiss him, it was worth it for the shocked, disgusted and panicked looks on those idiots' faces. Maybe they didn't agree with him. Maybe they thought he was just a blasphemous child.

But he'd made his statement, and that was all he could do.

**Wow. I'm already a day late, one chapter in. **

**And this was supposed to be romantic and humorous. I really shouldn't have added the "Tuesday they hate each other" thing in. **

**Still. Tell me what you think! If all goes well, I'll be posting a fluffier chapter this arvie! **

**-Slayer**


	3. Wednesday

**OMG, what the fuck do I write. Someone give me SOMETHING. How the hell do I write a love-hate relationship spanning 1 day? What the hell am I supposed to do? **

**IT'S SO HARD! I NEED PROMPTS, FOR CHRISSAKES! **

**On another note, I just watched Rise of the Guardians. I now ship Bunny x Jack, and I want to be called Mrs. Frost when I become a grown-up derp. RotG FTW!**

**So yeah, anyway, this'll be really short in order to fit the deadline. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Literally. Hetalia owns me, not the other way around. And I think my left leg belongs to JK Rowling. **

"Jones." Alfred looked up from his burger at the sound of his name.

Arthur Kirkland, Student Body President, was standing a few feet from the lunch table he and his friends from the football team were sitting at. **(A/N: Oops, almost called it Rugby. Wrong bloody country!)**

"What do you want, Eyebrows?"

He was gratified by a light titter from the girls and a chuckle from the boys, even though the nickname was nothing new. This was one of the things he liked best about popularity: nobody had the guts to say he wasn't funny. Not that he cared overmuch what people thought, but it was still cool.

Arthur simply rolled his eyes. "I need a word. Got a moment?"

Alfred looked down at his plate and then nodded slowly. "See ya in a few, guys," he said. He knew this conversation would take more than just a moment. They always did.

They headed out of the cafeteria and into a small adjoining hallway, one that was barely ever used.

"Alright, you got me on my own. What do you want?"

Arthur sighed, running a hand through his hair, and Alfred couldn't help but notice just how tired he looked.

"I wanted to talk about a temporary alliance."

Alfred raised his eyebrows. "Oh?"

This wouldn't be the first time they'd teamed up; not out of friendship but out of necessity. Of course, they didn't _hate_ each other- not really- it was just that there was something about their characters that made it impossible to coexist. Luckily, that never really came into play, as they moved in totally different social circles and had little reason to interact.

Except for moments like this, at which one of them would propose a temporary alliance, out of necessity, rather than friendship.

They had a pretty special relationship, all things considered.

"It's about the new student. Peter Celland." **(A/N: Sorry, I know that's not his name, I just didn't want him to be related to Artie)**

Alfred nodded in understanding. "Ah."

Peter was small for his age, and while he was smart enough to get transferred into the year above- placing him in Senior Year when he should have been a junior- the other students refused to recognise him as a member of their grade. Thus, he was a social outcast, bullied and ridiculed for looking like he belonged in Freshman year, tops, when in only a few months, he would be graduation. The fact that had let slip he had two dads, and of course his total obsession with the country Sealand (which no-one had ever heard of), only helped to exacerbate his "social outcast" status.

"What is it you need?"

Arthur sighed and leaned against the wall opposite Alfred. "I need you to help him. I feel sorry for the poor kid."

Normally, Alfred would sneer and call Arthur a girl, but he was right- the poor kid needed a break. Not only that, but here, in their alliance, there were no insults allowed. That unspoken rule had never been violated, as both of them knew the repercussions of an argument.

"How did you propose we do that?" he asked warily.

"I've seen him in Gym. He's fast, and he's got good hand-eye co-ordination. Perhaps you could arrange for him to be fit into tryouts at the end of the week?"

Alfred nodded, accepting the valid point. If the kid really did have the skills Arthur said he did, Peter could prove himself to the team and gain a heap of friends. It'd worked for him, when he'd just entered high school. **(A/N: Obviously stolen from The Invitational Year, but sue me)**

"And we could coach him after school."

Alfred looked up in surprise. "'We'?"

Arthur nodded, frowning in thought. "I'm not really familiar with gridiron, but I am good at football. We could each coach him separately." **(Do the British call it gridiron? Is it just us Aussies? I dunno)**

"Really? Alfred asked in confusion. He'd thought Arthur was a dyed-in-the-wool nerd with the physical ability of Steven Hawking.

"Mmm. Anyway, does that sound good?"

Alfred nodded again. "Sure."

They were about to go their separate ways, when Alfred yelled out. "Hey, wait."

Arthur turned and raised a heavy eyebrow.

"We're still not friends. And this alliance is, as always, temporary."

Arthur nodded, one corner of his mouth tilting in a smile. "Of course. And then we'll go back to hating each other. You stealing my lunch and calling me names, me slashing the gridiron team's budget."

"Like old times."

"Like old times."

Arthur left, and Alfred went back to the lunch table, where he proceeded to laugh along with his friends and finish his (now-lukewarm) burger, secure in the knowledge that once Peter Celland was no longer a social outcast, he could go back to hating Arthur Kirkland.

At least, until the next time he needed something only the student Body President could help him with.

Then the alliance would be back on again.

You see, their strange, conflicted relationship was like no other. It was truly something else. Something special.

**Sorry, I know this is a bit random. I just had ABSOLUTELY NO BLOODY IDEA WHAT TO DO. So this turned up on my screen. **

**I truly hope no-one actually has a relationship like this. **

**And yes, I do realise that the UST and OOCness were a bit heavy-handed. I had honestly wanted there to be none at all. After all, the 'love' in a love-hate relationship doesn't have to be romantic or lamorey. It can be platonic. **

**Anyway, that's what I ended up with. Tell me what you think! Give me prompts! Review! Favourite! Subscribe! **


	4. Thursday

**Hair thar! Me again, with another update. This is easier, as it is more treaded ground, yanno. I actually know how to write this, a bit… ;)**

**Not that that means I knew how to start. At all. **

**Oh and thanks for all the beautiful reviewers! You make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside! **

**I wanted to make this a little less conventional! Instead of having them be a completely weird friendship, I wanted it to be normal. Strange, eh? Anyway, as such, I've got an almost Pirate!Iggy slant on England. Meaning he's not the total geek we all know and love. **

**Oh yeah, and I did a bit of script-y formatting in this one. Because I wanted to. Because I was bored. Because… Yeah. **

**And also, be warned, as this is a completely platonic relationship, they're into chicks. Well, Arthur is bi. Because he's a bloody invincible pirate. But in any case, they have girlfriends. Who are genderbent versions of themselves. Anyway. FORWARD, MEN! AT DAWN, WE RIDE!**

**Anyway, I'm unemployed and proud of it. Meaning Hell will hold a christening for Satan before I own Hetalia, as much as I want to. **

Being friends with Alfred F. Jones is strange.

It may not seem like it… After all, we have plenty in common.

Both sporty, popular, good-looking (if I do say so myself), and well-off.

In fact, even if you look deeper, we have a lot in common: I have an obsession with Doctor Who, Shakespeare, and all manner of British TV shows- some of which may have been surprising; Alfred is completely obsessed with superheroes, in comic, movie, poster, book, or memorabilia format. In that way, we're both slightly nerdy, more so than either of us would like to admit.

We both have a lot more respect for education and teachers than other "popular" kids. Which may seem surprising, but as much as Alfred may love McDonalds, neither of us want to work there.

Furthermore, neither of us claim to have "swag".

He wants to be a hero; I want to be a gentleman.

The similarities run deep- deeper than they would seem.

000

**Alfred: **Hey Artie!

**Arthur: **Alfred.

**Alfred: **Did I tell you about that new Superman comic?

**Arthur: **You're good with relationship advice and such, aren't you?

**Alfred: **It's totally EPIC! There's this new villain, and then Superman does this awesome thing…

**Arthur: **Shut up. Now, if two people are expected to get together, but don't want to because they're incredibly stubborn, even though they're obviously meant to be together, will they end up in love?

**Alfred: **No really Artie, the villain is this totally hot chick called Mesmer and she's got these MASSIVE boobs, and-

**Arthur: **Hush. Answer the question.

**Alfred: **Well, I guess, if one of them asked the other out, then they would.

**Arthur: **_(Fistpumps) _Yes! Mary and Matthew are going to get together!

**Alfred: **You are such a girl about those shows.

**Arthur: **Shut the fuck up before I turn you into a girl with a spoon.

000

But in any case, we're different enough that, to others in our immediate social circle, our friendship seems weird. Strange.

For example, while we're both extremely patriotic, he's fully American and I'm a homesick Englishman.

While we both try hard in our studies, and are naturally talented in most sports, he excels at Maths and Sciences and detests English and Arts, whereas I am exactly the opposite.

We have completely different taste in food; so much so that I find it difficult to share a lunch table with him at times, simply because the fumes from his lunch give me indigestion. Likewise, he can only barely stomach the sight of my mother's cooking, which perfectly fine, thankyou (and taking a packed lunch to school instead funding that bullshit they call "edible" in the school cafeteria does NOT make me a mummy's boy, it makes me intelligent).

We like different kinds of music- while I listen to punk rock and the like, he's either listening to pop trash or whiney, nasal country music. Neither of which I can stand.

So on the surface, to people whose only friendships are motivated by similarities in dress, food, study and musical inclinations, our taste in friends seems strange and slightly impossible. Every time we bicker-which is often, in fact, almost constant- people seem to expect us to break into guerrilla warfare or start a punch-up in the middle of the halls.

000

**Alfred: **Artie! Why would you say that?

**Arthur: **Because it's true, Al.

**Alfred: **I do NOT forget about my brother on a regular basis.

**Arthur: **Alfred, he doesn't mind, but really, you do. It was his birthday yesterday, and you had to ring me up to buy a present for him.

**Alfred: **Lies! Cruel lies!

**Arthur: **Shut up. You called me and said, and I quote, "Mattie's turning sweet 17 today and I don't have a present! Can you come over real fast with one? I'll pay you back." Unquote. Which of course you didn't do.

**Alfred: **Still, I've been really busy lately, what with the game coming up in a bit, and all…

**Arthur: **Alfred, go and apologise to your brother for getting him condoms for his birthday.

**Alfred: **Hey! That was your idea, not mine.

**Arthur: **You want to tell him that?

**Alfred: **_(Hesitates)_… Well, no…

**Arthur: **Do it. Now. Matthew's a nice boy and I will not have you ignoring him so you can go off and snog your girlfriend.

**Alfred: **But artiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiie…

**Arthur: **What. Did I just. Say. Alfred.

**Alfred: **Fine. But next time you forget to bring your lunch, I'm not helping.

000

But, of course, we don't. Because we're the best of friends.

Double dates and manovers, party invites that automatically extend from me to him, vice versa, no questions asked, porn mags and money that's borrowed and never repaid, me letting him copy my homework after asking him "What the hell is so hard about Hamlet, exactly?", and the spontaneous trips to the movies to see romantic comedies we would never admit to enjoying, my difficulties with the Krebs cycle that I don't even have to explain, the endless conversations about anything from the different shades of blue to whether Gwyneth Paltrow was too old to play Pepper Potts- it was difficult to explain what exactly made us friends, or when we'd become this close, just that we were.

It was a difficult friendship to describe. Just… Friends. For all my power with words, I can't describe the exact feeling of knowing that no matter how much we bicker, not matter how blunt I am, no matter how much he hates my mum's biscuits or I hate his music, that when he falls over I'll laugh my ass off and help him up, only to trip him over again and be pulled down on my arse, just like some cheesy bloody hallmark card.

It's too hard to find the words to say that we know each other so well we don't need to ask the other if something's wrong, or even what it is.

It's not the friendship of a couple of popular kids killing time, or allies in a fight against losers, or even the reluctant bond of a couple of guys who would normally hate each other but for some reason, don't.

All I know, all he knows, is that it's not something that'll be forgotten at graduation and rekindled 30 years later over Facebook. We'll always be there to supply the other with Ben & Jerry's, tissues, Molotov cocktails, beer, money, "brohugs", suits, showers and couches.

As Alfred would say: It's weird, sure, but stronger than nano-carbon microfibers.

**I went and saw Rise of the Guardians yesterday and was instantly addicted. I then spent the rest of the night and day reading the fics. (Some of which are truly awesome)**

**Then this morning I woke up and was asked to de-ice the freezer. Oh, the irony. **

**Anyway! Read, review, hate, fave, subscribe! I don't care, tell me how you feeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee eeeeel!**


	5. Friday

**I had no idea what I was getting myself into when I set myself this challenge. Anyway, this may be a little short, simply because I'm sleep-deprived from staying up 'till 3 reading Invisible last night. **

**Oh, and I just realised that there was a problem with the summary. I said that they were shy on Friday and in denial on Saturday. Which, if you do things chronologically, like I'm trying to do, makes no sense. So this, Friday, is actually the "Denial" chapter. **

**Sexual tension ahoy! **

**I don't own Hetalia. The closest I've gotten is a whole heap of AMVs on my laptop that I got off a friend and are probably illegally pirated, for all I know. **

**And this is going to be in Alfred POV, for a change. I cant remember if I've actually done that yet. **

**So anyway, this is the denial chapter, so I immediately thought, "They should be in a situation in which the both look INCREDIBLY sexy, but refuse to admit it." Which of course, means sports. And locker rooms. And sweat. And rippling muscles. And golden skin. All that bordering-on-pornographic fun stuff. Yeah! So Arthur's Sporty!Iggy , because otherwise he'd just be a skinny, gangly kid, and we can't have that. **

**Note: I have never been in a men's locker room, and they don't have locker rooms (to my knowledge) in Australia, or at least in my school. So I'm going off what I've read of these strange places. **

**Anyway. Enjoy~ We're on the home straights, my squidlings~**

I. Love. Sports.

There's absolutely no other way to put it.

I mean I like superheroes and stuff, sure, but my favourite thing to do is just go outside in the sun, run around, play baseball, basketball, football, tag, whatever. I just like the feeling.

My brother says I'm crazy, and that exercise I anything but fun, but I reckon he's the crazy one. Why would anyone not enjoy running around, being part of a team, scoring gaols and being totally heroic?

Which is why it's such a good thing I've got a friend like Arthur. He's my next-door-neighbour, since the beginning of time, or 4th grade anyways. We always do everything together. Including sports.

We're always on the same teams and stuff, and we train together after school at the gym and all that. We reckon we're the two sportiest guys in class. Well, I do, anyway. It's awesome.

So I should probably get to the point. Well, there isn't one, not really. Just that we're finished basketball training and me and Artie (or Artie and I, I guess) are the last two in the locker rooms. See, I'm going away to see my brother Mattie this weekend, at his parent's house. (Divorce, long, complicated, boring, messy, whatever. Another time, maybe) So we won't see each other 'till Monday.

And believe me, that is a _pretty big deal_. Why else would we take any longer than usual in the locker rooms? They're like Hell, in that they're cramped, hot, and smell like Satan's dirty laundry. Or, as Iggy would say, "A giant, festering pile of shit". He's funny like that.

So we're just saying good bye. It's kinda awkward.

"So…" I say, shifting my feet. "What are you doing this weekend?"

He looks off to the side. "Probably just running away from my brothers."

We laugh, awkwardly. Is there a synonym for awkward? Uncomfortable?

Yeah, anyway, that.

"Cool," I say.

He scratches the back of his neck. He does that when he's nervous. Why would he be nervous? I mean, it's just for a weekend, right? Sure, it's the first weekend since, like, last April. And that was because his granny back in England died. So he had to go to the funeral. Sad.

And we're just good friends, and all. So why is it so awkward?

I absently wish he hadn't changed out of his shorts. Cause he looks really good in shorts. I mean, really good. He's got great legs. All long and lean and muscly from running…

Wait, where the _fuck_ did that come from?

Oh god, now I'm getting mental images of him running.

Why…?

Oh god, this is so awkward. Quick, say something. _Say something._

"You have really nice legs," I blurt out.

My next thought? TOTAL MORTIFICATION. Jesus. How could I have said that? To my best, _Male_, friend? What the fuck?

Arthur looks just as confused as I do. I mean, under all the blush.

"Yeah…" I say.

"I'm going now."

He nods silently, staring at the floor.

I walk out, clutching my kit.

Still, my face is burning, and my head is just filled with WUT. _WUT. __**WUT. **_

The worst thing was, I could tell I hadn't been lying. Arthur's legs _were_ hot.

Wut.

**Yeah, I agree with Al. WUT. WAS. DAT. **

**I DON'T EVEN KNOW. **

**I WANTED IT TO BE FILLED WITH HOT, SWEATY, SEXY MAN-BEASTS, AND INSTEAD, I GOT A STINKING LOCKER ROOM AND AWKWARDNESSNOSITY. **

**I DON'T EVEN…**

**Somebody give me a prompt for SHY, Saturday's chapter. **

**Someone, please. Or you'll get something even worse than this. **

**So yeah, this may seem a little stilted, but I wanted to get BOTH America's way of thinking across, AND the awkwardness of the exchange. So it came out plenty stilted. Tell me what you think, please, I want to sleep tonight. **

**Like, Read, Review, Favourite, Follow, come through the computer and strangle me with a cactus for completely killing your characters, something! Show me how you feel! **


	6. Saturday

**So! Hello, my pretties! Another update! **

**Honestly, I think this is the best I have EVER stuck to an updating schedule. I usually either update late, or not at all. Which is why I currently have 3 stories on an unofficial hiatus. Fuck me, right?**

**In an case, MANY THANKS TO THAT BEAUTIFUL BLOODY BEAUTY, ANONYMOUSE, WHO I COULD NOT PM ON ACCOUNT OF SHE/HE/IT REVIEWING AS A GUEST. **

**I LOVE YOU. **

**I REALLY, REALLY DO. **

**To those who are not that person, the prompt I got from he/she/it was party, dance, even prom. Or, alternatively, a "****pre-planned movie outing as friends that ends up feeling more like a date because of the nice legs comment."**

**Mate, I gotta say, that really did help. I was thinking Alfred would just randomly show up at Arthur's house and crash on his couch or something. YOU'VE SAVED US!**

**Without further ado, I don't even own the prompt for this one shot I'm writing about characters I also don't own. Disclaiming is incredibly depressing. **

**Enjoy~**

I was hiding in a corner. But that's a story for another time. Suffice it to say that I was at a party. Not one of the better decisions I have made.

Alfred, my best friend and the loudest person I know, likely had no problems with the frankly offensive nature of the decibel level. I, however, am not keen on becoming deaf in later life and want to be able to pass college- meaning that I would prefer _not_ to lose my brain cells to alcohol.

So why did I come?

For Alfred.

Of course.

Why did Alfred come?

For Matthew.

Of course.

Why did Matthew come?

For Gilbert.

Of course.

Why did Gilbert come?

Beer.

So yes, in a roundabout fashion, I can blame everything (the fact that I have already wasted 3 hours of my life on pointless garbage when I could be working; the fact that I am most likely going to cave, get drunk, and lose my virginity; and the fact that I'm going to have an astronomical headache in the morning) on beer.

Or on Gilbert. I think I'll go with Gilbert.

However, my musings on the culpability of my lifelong-friend-enemy-liquidy-thing are meaningless. The fact remains that this party would be much more fun if I had half a spine, some balls, or a penis. Or no brain. Yeah, that would probably work the best.

You see, I came here tonight with the express goal of kissing Alfred. Yes, my best friend. Yes, that guy. Yes, a male.

And, like all great procrastinators, I am reasonably confident that it was simply a lie I told myself to rid myself of the shame of not having any guts.

You see, it's not even the fact I'm not sure of his sexuality. If only it were that simple. He's bi. He's dated guys in the past. That's not the problem.

The problem is not even that he's taken, and I am doing the gentlemanly thing of not ruining the relationship he has with his hypothetical girl/boyfriend; he's single. Has been for a couple months. No, that's not the reason either.

It's not even that I'm scared of ruining our relationship. After all, when Kiku told him he liked him, he'd been fine with it. They'd been perfectly god friends afterward.

It's not because I'm shy, and think he won't like me back. Well, actually, yes, it kind of is.

You see, he has a crush.

He's been struck dumb in love, shot by cupid, all that bloody romantic bull. All I know is that every now and then he gets this thrice-accursed starry-eyed look. I can't stand it. I think it's because of the envy that's doing a striptease in my intestines.

So you see it's not a matter of being afraid that he might not like me back; I know he won't like me back.

And honestly, I can't stand the prospect of being officially freindzoned.

At this point, at least I can blame the fact I'm not dating him already on cowardice. I can convince myself there is still hope.

But I'm not stupid. I know, however well I lie to myself, that he likes someone else, and that that's never going to change.

Which brings me back to my first point.

I'm hiding in a corner.

I told you it was a story for another time… Well, as I've just effectively loaded you up with the entire plot for a bloody romantic comedy, I can't make it much bloody worse, can I?

He's making out with Ivan.

That's why I'm hiding.

Alfred. F. Jones. Is. Making. Out. With. Fucking. Ivan. Braginsky.

MOTHERFUCKING IVAN BRAGINSKY.

000

Kissing Ivan was just as gross as I had expected it to be.

He was cold and slimy, and his tongue tasted all weird. But, in the hope of finally making it out of the friendzone, I had to do it.

Yes, I'm a manipulative asshole.

Blame Mattie, it was his idea.

You see, I like Arthur Kirkland. My best friend. Yes, a guy. Yes, him. Yes, the guy with the eyebrows.

Thing is, I can't puck up the courage to ask him out.

Yeah, I know, it's completely unheroic of me, but sometimes we have our weaknesses, you know?

Anyway, the thing is, he has a crush.

He gets this really far-off expression in his eyes sometimes… Like he's daydreaming about someone he really, really, wants to be with… I know if I tried to ask him out, he'd just say no. Sure, I mean, he'd be nice about it. For all he acts like a sour old bastard, he's actually really sweet.

So I asked Mattie for help.

And this is what he came up with.

In order to know, once and for all, whether he liked me or not, I would have to make him jealous.

This immediately struck me as dangerous. I have seen enough romantic comedies with my brother to know that that doesn't always work (If there's no attraction, then there's no jealousy. I never understood why those stupid bitches didn't see that). But then again, Mattie was right; it was all I had going for me.

So I made out with the commie bastard.

Don't ask me why it was him. We have history.

But after I'd broken the kiss, I couldn't find Artie.

000

On second thoughts, this sulking is immature. I should go find Alfred.

000

"Artie!" he yelled, when I tapped him on the shoulder. "There ya are! I've been looking for ya for ages!"

I smiled in an awkward sort of way. I wasn't really sure what to do next, or how to go about this.

000

Artie shuffled his feet nervously, and I wanted to jump for joy. Could he really be about to say…?

"Alfred," he began uncertainly.

"Yeah?"

"I saw you kissing Ivan."

Don't smile don't smile don't smile don't smile…

"Look, it's fine by me. I'm just worried about you, is all. I mean, remember what happened when you dated last year? That…"

I tuned him out.

All.

Hope.

Lost.

000

I wasn't sure what was wrong with Alfred. After all, I was the one who tuned him out, not the other way around. Maybe he was sick?

In any case, it was incredibly rude. I had finally summed up the courage to tell him that I didn't mind if he tore my heart out, as long as he was happy. But he couldn't even have the common bloody decency to listen to me when I did.

Sometimes I hate this bastard.

_Maybe_, I thought, _he wants to go back to Ivan… You're obviously not good enough to hold his attention when he's got better things to do…_

000

"I should let you get back to Ivan," he said. Great. Now I was suck explaining this mess to the commie bastard.

To add insult to injury, I was offered a fantastic view of his ass as he turned and walked away.

000

I was trying not to cry.

After all, I'd just been friendzoned by my crush of about a year. And he didn't even know he'd done it.

_Oh well. At least he's happy. _

000

**Oh… I'm sorry. Did you want a happy ending? Well, it looks like you're not getting one!**

**In any case, I hope you will forgive me for my douchiness. I just literally thought that this is a more realistic option. **

**After all, not everyone gets out of the friendzone, do they?**

**Anyways, I love you all very much, and please prompt me for the Sunday installation! Remember, in that one they are together, which means that you can have it as fluffy and pretty and corny as you like! Fuck, if you want, they can skip through a wheat field holding hands! **

**All my love, and give me reviews in return! If you hate me, I want to KNOW!**

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**(And a possible alternate ending, for those who think I'm an utter fucktwat)**

"Thanks for driving me home, Alfred," I said, still not looking at him. I'm not sure I'll ever look at him the same way. After all, I now have the complete and unmolested truth about this relationship and it's not one I like.

He stayed quiet for a moment, and then said, "Yeah…" just as awkwardly. I opened the door.

"Hey, Arthur, wait a sec," he said, and I looked back. He looked weird… Nervous, uncertain, but also curious. In the darkness of the car, his eyes burned an impossible, electric blue.

"What is it?" I snapped, maybe a little too harshly, but it was like he didn't even notice. He just kept watching me, with that weird expression on his face.

"Look, Art," he said quietly, "I'm sorry, but I just have to know…" and then he kissed me.

And it was like heaven on earth.

His lips, chapped and chewed but still so impossibly soft and gentle, rested on mine lighter than a moth's wings. It was so light if I hadn't felt his warmth right next to me, smelt the leather and peppermint aroma of his skin, I would have almost imagined it wasn't even there.

But it was still the best kiss I've ever had in my life.

This,

I think,

Is flying.

**SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO maybe I'm not as much of a bitch as I seem. Still, the chapter specified "shy" so I didn't really think they'd end up being bold. It cost me a lot of internal debate and second-guessing to get to that point, and then I came out with that motherfucker anyway. I suppose I just wanted to write a first kiss. I've only done it once before.**

**Incidentally, A) I think my brother is fapping; and **

**B) I'm officially addicted to TV tropes. And I want a My Name Is Inigo Montoya shirt. **


	7. Sunday

**Well, fuck. I now officially hate Microsoft Word. **

**Yes, that is why I didn't update. Yes, it was word's fault. Don't. Say. A. Word. **

**It would fucking open this document for some reason. **

**And for some random reason I can't explain, I found this EINCREIBLEY difficult to write. Hate on me, whatever. I'm so done. **

**Anyway, enjoy the fucking chapter. **

"Arthur," Alfred said from behind me. I turned around on the park bench to see him standing a few feet away, a soft smile on his face and two coffees in his hands.

I pushed down the way the sight of him made me feel so light inside it almost hurt, the way the colour of his eyes was an even more perfect, impossible blue than the cloudless, midwinter sky.

He came around and sat next to me, offering me my cup. I tried hard not to smile, frowning instead.

"God, Alfred. How many times do I have to tell you I don't like coffee?" If anything, his sweet, sweet smile just widened, and now it was almost impossible to frown.

"It's Earl Grey, one sugar, bag out," he said, taking a sip of whatever sweet, overly caffeinated drink he'd gotten. (A double mocha with caramel syrup and whipped cream, as always)

"Oh," I said, trying desperately to control the blush that spread over my cheeks. I huddled into the warmth of the cup and blew on it softly. "Thank-you."

I wasn't looking at him, not at his crinkling eyes or his messy gold hair or his sunshine-bright smile, so when he leaned over and kissed me sweetly on the forehead, I could only freeze and blink in shock.

He winked. "You look so cute."

I blustered, trying to hide the impossibly warm feeling inside and the way I wanted to curl into his shoulder like a child. "I-I'm not cute, you git! Why the bloody hell would you call me that?!"

He just kissed me on the cheek and shook his head. "Damn, Iggy, you're so silly sometimes."

I hate the way the nickname makes me want to melt, makes me want to yell with happiness at how much he cares, I hate it. Of course I do. It's so undignified.

"Don't call me that," I mutter, taking a sip of my tea, which is, of course, perfect.

He just keeps smiling.

I pretend not to like the way his hand feels in mine as we sit there, in silence, enjoying the winter sun.

But I know he knows.

I know he can see through me and my act.

It's one of the things I like best about me dear, sweet, impossibly foolish and incredibly perfect Alfred.

And when he walks me home in the evening and I bluster that _I'm not a girl_, I know he doesn't mind.

And when he stops on the streetcorner and asks me if I enjoyed the date, I know it's just a formality.

When I tell him that it was boring and sappy, _I mean, watching the ducks in the park? What are you, five?_ I know he hears what I'm really saying; _Thank-you, I love you, you're perfect_.

When he smiles that special smile just for me, I know he thinks I'm cute and sweet, and though for the life of me I don't know why, it doesn't matter, because he does.

And when he leans down and kisses me, there's no acting; when I lean in and sigh at his touch, it's real; the warmth from his summer-stained skin next to mine is impossible to fake; the light in his eyes is just for me.

And I know that even though I treat him terribly, he sees that this is my only way of saying it;

He doesn't mind if I call him a silly git before I lean in and kiss him again;

He only smiles when I tell him I have to go and study, _because I've put it off long enough already, _and _you're lucky I even let you take up this much of my time, _because _I'm very busy you know, _and _not all of us can breeze through their tests without even studying beforehand, twit. _

And even if when he walks away from me, I feel like I want to cry, I know that he'll always look back, just for me, tell me I'll see him on Monday, tell me I look beautiful, tell me he'll miss me, blow me a kiss.

And I know that even though he doesn't hear me whisper, he knows it already…

_Thank-you, I love you, you're perfect. _

000

**So yeah, short chapter. Sorry to keep you waiting. It was Word's fault. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.**

**I just kind of wanted to explore the way that with these two, so often the most important things are the things left unsaid; especially Arthur. The terminal tsundere. But a bit with Alfred too. **

**Anyway, thankyou, all of you, for all of your support! For reading it, for reviewing, favourite-ing, subscribing! **

**That is the last Chapter of Septimana, published on Tuesday rather than Sunday, but the Love chapter nonetheless.**

**Seven chapters in celebration of the most loosely interpreted pairing in existence. Maybe. Whatever. **

**THAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAANK YOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOU!**

**I LOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOVE YOU! **

**YOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOU'RE PEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE EEEEEEEEEEEEEEERFEEEEEEEEEEE EEEEEEEEEECT!**


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